


Foreign Exchange

by badcircuit



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal, Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, PWP, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badcircuit/pseuds/badcircuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  AU pre-Hurt Locker Renner meets a beautiful stranger in France.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreign Exchange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disturbedbydesign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disturbedbydesign/gifts).



I’m told quite often that I’m pretty.  Some call me beautiful.  It’s not something I take great pride in; genetics are such a random thing.  And I believe most people are beautiful in some way.

I would never claim that being pretty or even beautiful is a burden.  In fact, I’m getting more modeling work every day.  It is, however, a problem while at my steady job.  I should be invisible, cleaning up after diners in the posh hotel restaurant.  I do everything I can to be just another nameless, faceless drudge:  pull my long hair into an unflattering bun, wear my uniform a hint too large, keep my head down.  Inevitably, I catch someone’s eye.

I feel the familiar feeling of being watched.  He’s sitting at the loud American table.  He talks animatedly, a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other, waving his hands around as he laughingly tells his story but his eyes keep coming back to me.  Such unusual eyes, like the sea at _le Port de Fontvieille_ , impossible to ignore. 

I know who he is. 

More than anything else, I love the cinema.  My appetite for films of all kinds is insatiable, especially for anything American.  I’ve seen several of his and though the films themselves were not exceptional, he stood out.  He has what the Americans call “star quality,” an indefinable something that demands your attention.

I nearly topple a stack of fine china because those eyes on me make me want things he’s probably not willing to give.

The maitre d’hotel curses me while somehow managing to continue to look pleasant.  I’ll have to grovel to keep my job later but he’s one of the people who’ve called me beautiful.  Playing to his huge ego and barely contained lust shouldn’t be too difficult.  I slink off to the kitchen, doing my best to look shamed and penitent. 

When I sneak a glance at Monsieur Renner, he looks away with a small smile.  Damn him.

It’s quite late when I finish making amends in the kitchen and stroll out the service door.  By the time I round the front of the hotel, I’ve freed my hair, which falls to the middle of my back, undone a few of the buttons on the scratchy black staff shirt and pulled its tails out of my pants.

Perhaps it’s a coincidence that Monsieur Renner is alone, leaning against a pillar and having a smoke.  I see the exact moment he notices me.  He stands up a bit straighter and his brow furrows as he takes in my dishevelment; he isn’t quite sure I’m the pretty, clumsy one from earlier.  I can’t help but look at him too long; he really is quite stunning.  I tuck my hair behind my right ear, baring my face, and he gives me a look of recognition, a widening of those lovely eyes and a mischievous quirk of his lips. 

I think he’s a _coquet_ without even trying.  He’s a flame and I won’t be one of the dull moths flinging myself into it, no matter how much I want to burn.  I put my head down and keep walking.

Almost immediately, I know he’s following me.  I could lose him if I wanted to.  I decide to—how do the Americans say it?—call his bluff.  What will he do in the face of my demands?

I turn abruptly and walk right up to him.  He doesn’t back down and gives me a shameless smile.  I’m taller by several centimeters but it feels as if we’re eye to eye.  “ _Vous jouez un jeu dangereux, Monsieur Renner,”_ I say.  “It’s dangerous for you, this game, perhaps?”

“Is it?” he says, taking some of my hair and rubbing it between his fingers like the finest silk.

A flirt who likes to live on the edge.  My resolve is weakening fast.  A little test, then.

Fisting his t-shirt, I push him against the nearest wall and kiss him.  When he doesn’t open to me fast enough, I grip his scratchy jaw and squeeze, hard enough that he makes a sound of pained disbelief.  He opens though and sighs with pleasure when our tongues come together.  His body relaxes against mine, telling me everything I want to know.  He passes my test _très_ _bien_.

“Come.  _Allons_.”

He follows silently but his excitement is palpable and we’re not even touching.  “You know me?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“ _Oui_.  I like American cinema very much.  _28 semains plus tard_ …Sergeant Doyle.”

“That’s me,” he says, laughing.  It’s an oddly infectious sound accompanied by squinting eyes and a wrinkled nose and I like it.  What must I do to make him do it again and again?

I let us into my cozy little flat and leave him to study my things while I get us drinks.  He’s facing away from me when I return and I take a moment to admire his muscular shoulders and back and his fine ass.  _Je veux le mordre._

_“Monsieur—”_

“Jeremy,” he says, taking the drink and touching it to mine.

“Jeremy,” I concede, trying it out, liking the feel of it in my mouth.

I want something else in my mouth.  Not just yet though.

He’s looking at my pictures.  I have a table full of them: family, friends, lovers past and present, random things that catch my eye.  There are several of me in there, modeling shots in elaborate frames gifted to me by infatuated photographers.

“Are you a model?” he asks, pointing at the first shot I did with a long, knobby finger.  His hands are quite distracting in the best way.

“Sometimes, if the money’s right,” I say.  That’s my favorite picture of myself.  There was no makeup, I wore my own clothes and jewelry, no artifice whatsoever.  I don’t know what other people see when they look at it.  I see an arrogant little _putain_ and whenever I’m feeling full of myself, I have a good, long look at it.   

I can feel that Jeremy is having a good, long look at me.  I like his eyes on me but I’d rather it was those hands. 

“People probably tell you you’re beautiful all the time, huh?  Because you are,” he says, moving a little closer.

“I may have heard it a time or two but I like hearing you say it.”  I turn to him, stirring my drink with my finger and then sucking it clean.  “You’ve got a nice voice.  And you’re quite pretty yourself.”

He laughs that laugh and it’s like a tongue running up my spine.  “Nah, I’m just some dude with a funny face and good luck.” 

“Bullshit, Jeremy,” I say, setting our drinks aside.  I take his face in my hands and kiss him.  He opens to me right away this time and kisses me back, so eager and yet somehow shy.  It’s irresistible.

“What’s your name?” he asks, playing with my hair. 

“Maxime,” I answer.  “No more talk now.”  I move my hands to his shoulders and press down.  He only hesitates a moment before he goes to his knees in front of me.  “Only action,” I say, laughing softly.  I’m going to be his director tonight.

He smiles up at me and I’m utterly charmed by the crooked boyishness of it.  There’s nothing boyish about the way he strokes my cock through my pants then rubs his face against it like a big, tawny, spikey-haired cat.  Or the way he fumbles with the snap and zip with trembling fingers and licks his lips when he finds I’m not wearing any underwear. 

“Do it.  I’m not in the mood for teasing.”  I punctuate this by running my fingers through his mussed hair and gripping a handful to bring his mouth closer to where I need it to be.

My too loose pants slide down and I get rid of my shirt while he grips my ass with one big hand and my cock with the other.  “Wow,” he breathes.  I’m not sure if it’s because he’s never had one, never had one as big as mine or if it’s because I’m uncut.  And then he runs the tip of his tongue around under my foreskin and the last coherent thought I have for a while is that it’s quite obvious he’s done this before and that he likes it very much.

He backs off and kisses my thighs, my stomach, my hips.  He traces the line of hair from my navel down but avoids my cock, lapping at my balls instead.  I would scold him but the way he’s staring up at me while he torments me makes it impossible to do anything but moan and tug at his hair.

My knees buckle when he kisses the tip and takes as much of my cock down as he can, working the part he can’t fit with his fist.

“Am I doing it right?” he asks, jerking my cock and grinning up at me devilishly.

“I haven’t decided yet.  Keep going so I know for sure,” I respond with a smirk of my own and a thrust of my hips.

I like women and men equally.  It’s not so much about the sex as it is about the actual person.  Having said that, I will admit that a blowjob from a man is better for obvious reasons.  For myself, I enjoy having someone who is near my physical equal at my feet, serving me in such an intimate way.  Most men aren’t timid or squeamish about doing whatever it takes to make you come either.

Jeremy certainly isn’t.  He’s trying to work a thick finger up my ass while practically choking me down and he hasn’t broken eye contact yet.  I’m going to come if he keeps it up and we can’t have that.

I take him by the hand, pulling him up and to my bedroom.  “My turn to taste you _, joli garçon_.”

I make quick work of the t-shirt and push him down onto the bed.  His pupils blow wide and he blushes; he likes my rough treatment.  “Undo these,” I order, dragging my finger over his zip and the bulge beneath it.   I yank the rest of his clothes off and toss them somewhere behind me, not even flinching when something back there crashes to the floor.  I crawl up his body, sliding my cock against his while I attack his mouth. 

He whimpers and moans and sighs his way through our kisses, inflaming me beyond bearing.  Trailing my hair lightly everywhere causes breathless laughter; sucking his nipples makes him squirm; my tongue tracing his abs and ribs gets me gasping.  Winding my hair around his fist, he tugs me where he wants me but only because I allow it.  Given more time, I might allow him anything.  An image flashes in my head of him fucking me until I plead for mercy.  _Merde_ , he’s a dangerous one.

The moment I touch my lips to his cock, he lets out a strangled cry and bucks up into my mouth.  Sometimes sucking cock is a chore but with Jeremy, I get nothing but satisfaction.  He’s so sensitive, every little flick of my tongue and change of rhythm drives him higher.  He’s noisy and filthy-mouthed and I can’t get enough of him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.”  His whole body goes rigid and he shoves my head away.  I grip the base of his cock and clamp down hard, ensuring that he won’t although the idea of him shooting in my mouth is incredibly tempting.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants.  I can see his heart pounding, can feel it in the hot, stiff cock in my fist.  “How do you say ‘fuck me’ in French?” he groans, his head falling back on my pillow.

“ _Baise-moi_ ,” I respond, stretching out beside him and licking his armpit then sinking my teeth into the tender skin where shoulder and bicep connect.  He doesn’t have to ask or say a word.  His whole body is straining towards mine, silently begging for it.  Still I want to hear him beg out loud.  “Go on, try it.”

 **“** _Baise-moi.  Baise-moi,_ Maxime.”  He reels me in by the hair again for a kiss.  “Fuck me now.  Please.”

“Yes, soon.”  I help him up and over to a sofa that sits in front of a huge mirror that covers most of one wall and then go find supplies.  I return with condoms and lube to find him sprawled like a prince, one hand idly stroking his cock and playing with his nipples with the other, watching himself with heavy-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks.

“I like the view, too, Jeremy.”  I drop the stuff on the floor and pull him to me, settling between his thighs and kissing my way back down, swirling my tongue around his head, following the ridge on the underside down, mouthing his balls, sucking the tender skin just below them. 

“How soon is soon?” he whines.  “You’re gonna make me blow.”

“I won’t let you come,” I say, employing my earlier technique.  “Perhaps not at all tonight.”

“Oh fuck.  Please,” he begs.

I spread his ass and give him my tongue, eating at the tightly furled flesh, working the tip inside.  Above me, he’s chanting a stream of obscenities.  He opens his legs wider, cocking them up so he can grind on my face.  I manage to locate the bottle of lube and slather my fingers with it and then slip first my index finger and then the middle one into his tight heat to open him up.  “You’re going to ride me, Jeremy, and we’re going to watch you take my cock in that mirror.  Are you ready, _chou_?”

“Yeah, whatever you want.”

I arrange myself on the sofa while he kneels beside me, watching impatiently as I take my time rolling a condom on.  When I beckon to him, he scrambles into my lap and hovers breathlessly above me, waiting for me to tell him what to do.  I line my cock up and pull him down slowly, giving him a chance to adjust.  His face is an intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain and his thigh muscles are twitching beneath my hands.  He lets out a breath and I suck one in once his ass hits my bush.  Now I’m the one who feels like I’m going to lose it.

“Go on and fuck me,” I say.  “I can’t wait any longer either.”

He begins slowly but soon enough he’s rolling his hips, one hand clutching my knee and his other arm around my shoulders.  He watches us in the mirror and then turns to me, his face slack with lust, seeking my mouth and kissing me desperately.  “Touch me, Maxime.  Fuck, touch my cock. Oh god.”

I do and it’s painfully hard and leaking all over his tight belly.  He’s very close but I don’t want him to come this way.  I want to see his pretty face when he explodes. 

I lift him off and flip him onto his back, sinking into his ass and pressing his knees toward his shoulders to get as deep as I can.  I can’t seem to stop myself from slamming into him, harder and faster, and his moans only encourage me.  I’m so close it hurts and I need him with me.  I wrap my fist around his cock and he pumps his hips frantically, clamping down on me, our sweaty skin smacking together as we race to the end.

“Maxime,” he groans.  I bend to kiss him and he shuts his eyes tight and huffs against my lips as he comes, so hard some of it hits my chin.  I follow, gritting my teeth against the waves of pleasure as his ass milks my cock. 

At some point, I come back to myself and get us untangled.  I clean him with a warm, soft cloth, admiring his golden skin, committing his body to memory. 

“That was amazing,” he says, with that crooked smile, now sleepy and sated. 

“It was,” I agree, going to gather our clothes.

 Amazing is one word for it.  I like beautiful.

We walk back to the hotel in companionable silence.  I stop short of it, sticking to the shadows for Jeremy’s sake.  Americans are so stuffy about the most ridiculous things.

“You’re going to be a big movie star soon,” I say. 

“Bullshit.”  He looks uncomfortable at the idea.  “I just want to work.” 

“I’m sure you’ll have more than you can handle.  Mark my words, Monsieur Renner.  Maybe you’ll think of me from time to time in your Hollywood mansion, a pleasant memory, eh?  You’ll be my little secret.  I love secrets,” I say with a wink. 

“I don’t,” he says, puffing up delightfully.

“You’ll get used to them, mon ami.  Au revoir and bon courage, Jeremy.”


End file.
